


A New Start

by hydesboy



Category: Jekyll & Hyde - Wildhorn, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: brief mention of death, these two deserve happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 05:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydesboy/pseuds/hydesboy
Summary: Lucy Harris thought she was left for dead, but waking up in a hospital might be far better than she ever thought possible.





	A New Start

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat self indulgent post-musical balderdash

The harsh sunlight felt like searing fire against her shut eyes, the discomfort not just located in her eyes but through her whole being, though as it was the first thing she had noticed it look a priority in her oddly fuzzy mind. This was the second thing that had caught her attention. It very much felt as though her skull was stuffed full of cotton, foggy and not completely coherent, the dullest ache in the back of her mind being – to the best of her attempt at explaining from her limited knowledge – much like a hangover. Sitting up in an attempt to ground herself a moment turned out to be the worst possible decision. The motion, however slight as it might have been, set off an unexpected sharp pain in her abdomen that was more than efficient in causing her to hiss in pain, quick tears budding in the corners of her eyes that she couldn’t quite be bothered blinking away, deterred by the fact that she was quite sure that doing so would only serve to hurt herself further.   
The pain did provide something in her favour, however, as the sharp stabbing sensation forced her mind into clarity. God, she could swear that she could still feel the hulking presence of the man behind her, the alluring, hypnotic touch that she found herself falling into like a fool, the unseen blade… If she was alive then she wasn’t out of danger yet. The thought of this had her jolting up into a sitting position, her eyes flying open to search for assailants. If merely shifting in position had been painful, this was perfectly excruciating. Doubling over, she barely had time to acknowledge the unfamiliar area, the pristine cleanliness and lack of colour, as he quickly shut her eyes again.  
“Bloody ‘ell…” she hissed through gritted teeth.  
“Please do try not to move about so much, Ms. Harris, it would not do to reopen your wounds, especially so soon.” a perfectly impartial voice advised.  
The fact that she was not as alone as she anticipated was alarming, thoroughly on her guard, Lucy forced her eyes open – a feat that was far more effort than it ought to be – in order to locate the source.   
The last thing that she could rightly recall was lying tossed on the floor of her room above the Red Rat pub, much like a discarded toy which was not inaccurate to how the ghastly fellow who did so considered her, her vision darkening as she lay in a growing puddle of blood on the grimy floor. She had been quite sure that she was done for, which did nothing to explain her awakening in a hospital with a doctor strolling by offering advice. At least she was alive, right?  
Settling back down in the bed, wincing as her wound cried out its protest to her doing so, she couldn’t help but reflect upon the fact that this was most certainly the most comfortable bed she had been it. Quite unfortunate, really, considering the fact she had to nearly die in order to enjoy it.   
“I beg pardon, lass, but I cannae send ye home quite yet,” a voice to her left said to someone that wasn’t herself, “Yer da would’n’ forgive me if ye were injured and no’ jus’ suffering female hysteria.”  
Blowing a tuft of her wavy, long black hair from her face, Lucy looked over to the source of the voice. If she were to be stuck there, and she surely would be, she would surely go mad if she couldn’t entertain herself somehow.  
A well-dressed Scotsman was trying to convince a pretty young lady to return to her bed. Though the doctor was being as polite as possible, the beautiful flame haired woman was not impressed, her emerald eyes blazing angrily.  
“Female hysteria?” she repeated, sounding annoyed and a little offended, “My fiancée just tried to kill me, and he was then killed before my eyes! I feel I ought to be granted a little hysteria, don’t you think?” Her tone melted into something far more distraught, “You cannot say you are unaffected, Hastie, you saw what happened! You were there! You were one of his best friends.” Even at the distance she was situated from the other woman, Lucy could see the tears glistening on her cheeks.  
“Aye, Lisa, it’s a sorry turn o’ events,” came the response, “Sorry indeed.”  
“Merely sorry, Lanyon?” she scoffed, “It’s absolutely dreadful! Now, please, if I can’t leave may I at least stretch my legs? Or shall you determine where I can or can’t go much the same as Henry would?” The woman, evidently named Lisa, winced at the mention of the name, a reaction that was shared by the doctor.  
“Jekyll’s situation wa’ differen’, but aye, stretch yer legs, it’ll do ye good.”  
Jekyll?  
Well, the woman’s curiosity was well and truly piqued, she was hardly expecting to hear a familiar name coming from the aristocrats, however truth be told his name was more likely to be shared among the likes of them opposed to a person like her.  
She, thankfully, was not granted the opportunity to dwell on this saddening matter as the other woman passed by. Determined to not let her chance pass, she forced her slightly sore voice to function.  
“’scuse me?” God, her voice was hoarse, though considering her situation it was the best she could hope for.  
“Is everything quite alright, madam?” the other woman asked, a soft smile gracing her seemingly perfect featured.  
“Beg pardon for overhearin’ but did you say you knew Doctor Jekyll?”  
“I would certainly hope so!” she exclaimed, but realised she had been a wee bit more aggressive than intended, it being a sensitive topic for her, “He is,” she stopped herself, having to almost painfully correct herself, “Was my fiancée.” A look of such an intense sorrow crossed her lovely face before she shook her head to dismiss these unpleasant thoughts, sending a wave of orange cascading around her face and shoulders, “I assume you were acquainted?”  
“Aye, we were friends,” Lucy replied, and after a look from the other added, “Just friends.” She could hardly blame the woman for being suspicious, a woman of her walk of life would hardly have many male friends in earnest.   
What she wasn’t aware of was that they hadn’t the time to remove her makeup upon her arrival, saving her life coming as the priority meaning she was left with long, sorrowful stains of mascara and cheap eyeliner running down her cheeks like claw marks, the rich red of her lipstick smudged, all suggesting an unpleasantness of circumstances that lead to her being there. Fidgeting distractedly with the edge of the blanket she was under, one that was in a far better quality than the one she was sure she’d spend her final moments bleeding out on, she was finding it quite impossible to meet the other woman’s eyes.   
It was almost amusing to think that neither of them was aware that the other was there due to the foolishness of the same man.  
“I’m dreadfully sorry to hear that you are injured, Miss…?” Lisa began, breaking the silence that had briefly fallen over them, offering pleasantries as well as prompting for her name.  
It took her a moment to realise why on earth she knew she was injured, having briefly forgotten the extent of her circumstances, and more specifically the location of their meeting.  
“Harris,” said she after a moment, realising she hadn’t answered the subtly proposed question, “Lucy Harris, but you don’t need to trouble yourself with that ‘Miss’ nonsense.” said she, feeling a little out of place being treated so formally, “And, uh, likewise madam.”  
“Oh, if you see no need for such formalities than neither do I. Lisa Carew, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lucy.”   
She spoke so proper it made her almost ashamed of her own manner of speech, assuming that her own voice would be grating on the ears of such a well-spoken woman. This was not at all the case, quite the contrary, as the woman found the difference in speak patterns to be quite charming.  
“If it isn’t too forward of my asking,” Lisa started, the bandages adorning the woman she was conversing being just that little too glaring to be readily ignored, try as she may, “What on earth happened?”  
“A real gen’leman, that’s what.” came her response, a pitiful laugh following it, wincing both at the memory and the discomfort that the motion caused, “A bloke callin’ ‘imself Hyde. ‘spose it was inevitable for a woman like me…” Even the forced amusement was unsuccessful in hiding a far deeper sorrow that the thought produced.   
Lisa’s breath hitched. Even now when she was certain it was an impossibility it felt as though her assailant had his arm around her throat, willing to end her life without even a moment’s notice. Almost involuntarily, she raised a hand to her neck as if to fight off the suffocating force, all her dainty fingers reaching was the faintly bruised flesh that had come as a result of the brutal attack.   
“Hyde?” she repeated, her voice small, sounding almost as if coming from very far away, almost unable to comprehend the woman’s words.  
“Aye,” Lucy confirmed, an ache in her heart mirroring the other woman’s, but for a completely different reason, “A bloody brute, that one is.”  
“Was,” corrected Lisa, the slightest of tears beginning to bud in the corners of her eyes, which left unchecked began to swell and flow, “I’m afraid our Mr. Hyde is no longer with us.” Despite all the torment he had put her through, somewhere in him there remained her dear, sweet Henry who had been damned by the creature of his own making, “Henry is no longer with us…” The words seemed lies, even now, even after she cradled his lifeless form in her arms, the white of her dress stained crimson with the hopes of a life scratched out too soon.  
“You… you mean Dr. Jekyll is…?” Lucy began, finding herself wholly incapable of finishing the sentence, but her meaning was perfectly clear, nonetheless. She was unaware of her own tears falling freely, so focused she was on the other woman, hoping, praying for her to recall some sort of mistake or that she was spoken in jest, some cruel joke played for reasons unclear.  
“I’m so terribly sorry that you had to hear this from me, truly I am.” Even as the tears poured down her face, she tried desperately to keep a stiff upper lip, a feat that she was not wholly successful in achieving, “But at least it was he at the very end.” Ms. Carew added cryptically, wiping away the tears resolutely, her voice cracking ever so slightly, the brave face she so desperately held on to being naught but a failing façade.   
For a moment Lucy considered pressing for an elaboration, but she as she did not wish to cause the clearly distraught woman any further distress, she remained silent. Henry Jekyll was dead. The man she so loved, the ideal of a new life where she could be happy. Dead. Edward Hyde was dead. The man that a woman like she deserved, as much at it hurt her both mentally and physically. Dead. It was near incomprehensible, but somehow it had to be the truth. As much as she wished it was, it couldn’t be a lie.  
“I’m so sorry, Lisa,” she began, finding herself to be almost stumbling over her words, “I know ‘e loved you, ‘e spoke of you fondly.” she commented, recalling the way he spoke of her, and more importantly the way he rejected her advances in favour of the woman that now stood before her. It was almost funny how life plays out, as there was certainly no way the two of them would have met under a different circumstance, a circumstance where the doctor still walked his earth.  
She was hesitant, and her movements were stiff but very gently she reached out and took the young lady’s hand – a movement that required some rather painful shuffling in order to do so – and, barely thinking about what she was doing, gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.  
“It’s ‘orrible, I know, but you’re not alone.”   
How odd, the smile she used to give the men felt so false, a forced mockery of true happiness, but the smile she offered the woman, a somewhat awkward but all the more genuine for it smile came so naturally and was truly real. Through their tears and sorrow, the smiles they exchanged suggested a beautiful kind of solidarity that she couldn’t recall experiencing so strongly. Perhaps now, maybe, just maybe, she would get her new life after all. It might not be as she hoped, but it was what she needed desperately, more than anything.


End file.
